


It's Not Enough

by sapphire_child



Series: Season 12 Bits [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Crowley is a dick bag, Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry, Profound Bond, but that everyone and their mother has now written, my take on the Dean/Cas phone call which we never got to see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: Dean is already three quarters of the way through a bottle of whiskey when Cas makes good on his promise to call with information about the hunt for Lucifer. Just adding my own two cents worth of episode coda for 12x03, specifically one where they don't really talk all that much about Mary leaving and Dean still feels crappy but maybe less likely to break something.





	

Dean had forgotten Castiel’s promise to call. By the time his phone buzzes he’s three quarters of the way through a bottle of whiskey, curled up in the corner of his room and waiting for blissful oblivion.

He’s been doing a lot better, recently, at not drinking himself into a functional stupor. After the Mark and Amara he’s not so keen on anything that lowers his inhibitions, or makes it difficult for him to control his own impulses. He’s switched back to beer mostly, instead of the hard stuff. He’s barely touched anything since his mom…

He takes a long drag, straight from the bottle. He’s drinking to try and forget, not to remember goddammit.

The first time his phone rings he registers it, in a distant sort of capacity, but doesn’t bother to retrieve it. When it immediately rings a second and third time he just feels mildly irritated, but on the fourth he pushes to his feet, fumbling it and nearly dropping it as he stabs at the screen.

Four missed calls from Castiel. He holds the phone loosely in his hand, the bottle in the other. A text comes though, _Is everything alright?_ And for a second Dean considers ignoring it.

Against his better judgement, he sits down on the bed and returns the call.

There is a faint click when Cas answers. “Dean,” he says, by way of greeting.

At the sound of his voice, the tears which hadn’t come earlier, the anger and hurt which Dean had pushed down and suppressed comes roaring to the surface. His eyes blur so violently that he can’t even think to try and stop them. They drop, large and heavy onto his jeans and he grits his teeth and abruptly wants to break something. Wants to snap the phone in his hands in half, throw the bottle of whiskey across the room just to see the glass shatter and the liquid inside splash against the wall.

He gulps in a breath of air, uncertain that he’ll be able to speak without choking. Cas is silent, waiting for a response.

“Hey Cas,” Dean finally offers, voice hoarse.

“Lucifer is gone.”

Dean shuts his eyes. Tears squeeze their way out and make tracks down his cheeks. More of them land on his jeans, his shirtfront.

“Any idea where?” It’s much easier to focus on the job at hand, than to try and even begin to talk about what just went down with his mom.

“Well. I ran into Crowley.” Dean almost laughs at the distaste dripping from Cas’ voice. “He was also tracking him.”

Dean takes a moment to put his whiskey bottle down. “Course he was.” He snorts. “Freaking dick bag.”

“The ‘dick bag’ as you call him has been surprisingly helpful.” If possible, Cas sounds even more grumpy at the idea of Crowley being useful. “Together we managed to locate Lucifer’s last known whereabouts. He had possessed a musician, Vince Vincente, and captured Rowena. She used her magic to destroy his vessel and banish him to the bottom of the ocean.”

Dean takes in a shaky breath. “Awesome. So what’s next? Hire a submarine? You and Crowley gonna get your Hunt for Red October on?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas sighs. “I just thought I should update you.” He pauses a moment before asking, “How are things at the bunker?”

The sob that hits Dean is like a fist to the gut. His free hand flies to his mouth and he bites down, hard, on the meaty part of his thumb to stifle the gut wrenching noise that punches out of his throat.

“Dean?” And now Cas sounds worried, nay, a bit panicked. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

It takes him several seconds, rocking and trying not to be sick before he can even verbalise it. Even then it’s in monosyllables.

“She left. Mom left.”

“What happened?” Cas demands, then, swiftly, “Should I head back? If I leave now I can be there by…”

“No. No. Jeez. Me and Sam’ll be fine. We’re big boys. We’ll deal.”

It’s a bald-faced lie and Cas seems to sense it for what it is because his voice is sharp when he speaks next.

“Your mother left,” he says. “She left you both and you’re honestly telling me that you’re _okay_ with this?”

“Of course we’re not okay!” Dean abruptly realises he’s yelling and bites his tongue. He closes his eyes, breathes. Listens to Cas breathing on the other end of the line. Softens his voice down when he speaks again, throat hoarse. “I’m sorry man. I can’t…”

“Dean, I can come back. We could look for her together...”

“No, no listen man, she said she needs to have some time to do some soul searching-” his throat hitches. “-or something. Besides, you’ve got to go figure out how to gank Lucifer.”

There is a long silence from the other end of the line. Dean swipes a hand over his face. The tears have stopped again for now but his jeans are sodden. He feels like crap. For all the whiskey he’s had he may as well be sober again now. Maybe he’s cried it all out.

“I’ll call again tomorrow.” Cas says, after a protracted pause. “Try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.”

Dean scoffs, but it’s more of a sob, and maybe a reprimand. “Cas.”

“Sorry.” Cas says awkwardly. “I was attempting some levity in the hopes it might make you feel better.”

Dean tips his head back. Closes his eyes. He’s too emotionally destroyed to muster any energy to smile, but in his head he feels a tiny furl of affection and gladness. “Thanks man.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas returns. “I think.”

And now Dean does manage a small flicker of a smile. It disappears as soon as it came, but it’s enough for now.

“Let me know if we can help with Lucifer.” He offers, a reflexive gesture but a sincere one nonetheless. Cas’ voice is quiet when he answers.

“I will. Take care Dean.”

“You too Cas.”

The call ends and Dean keeps the phone pressed to his face for a long moment before discarding it.

He still finishes the bottle of whiskey, albeit slowly and a bit more contemplatively than when he was slugging it down earlier. He still goes to bed hurting and despondent and angry, the phone call barely lessening how shitty he’s feeling. He’s still pissed off but at least he’s lacking the energy to break stuff.

Mainly he’s just tired.

Dean wakes up to a text from Cas – _Call me when you wake up._

It’s not exactly a request, more of a demand. Dean responds slowly, his brain still sluggish from the alcohol.

_Hungover. Maybe later._

And then, after a moments consideration.

_Thanks._

When his phone vibrates a few seconds later in answer, he cracks an eye open and doesn’t even bother unlocking the screen. He can see Cas’ response in its entirety on the screen preview.

_You’re welcome._


End file.
